


Hiraeth

by GunmetalBlade



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Shiro is missing, short and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 09:01:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunmetalBlade/pseuds/GunmetalBlade
Summary: Hiraeth(n) a deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home; a home that is no longer or perhaps never was. A yearning and wistful grief for people and things long gone.- (definition wording from an unknown source)





	Hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at 1:30 AM (and is my first fic) so don't expect it to be very great, ha.

Keith’s head thunked against the cool metal of his bedroom wall.

His ears still rang with Lance’s voice, pitched high—some amalgamation of fear and disgust brought on by terror and exhaustion.

They’d yelled at him—Lance, Pidge, Allura—for pulling another stupid, reckless stunt.

(Black’s controls were icy beneath shaking hands. They hurtled through space’s yawning maw, breaking things and smashing things and _searching searching searching_ but never finding because what was there to find?

He just wanted to go home, wherever that was.) 

Hunk hadn’t yelled. Hunk had just half-shrugged, eyes averted like he couldn’t bear to look at Keith.

(It’s okay. He wasn’t the first.) 

Shiro was gone.

There were no leads, traces, clues—Keith was a dog chasing a tail that had been long since docked.

They’d tried everything. He just. Wasn’t. _Anywhere._

Acid lapped at Keith's esophagus. He swallowed thickly and half-laughed, half-sobbed as a fickle idea bubbled up in his muddled thoughts:

They hadn’t tried putting out wanted posters yet.

Not that they would have had a picture to put on it; Keith’s cracked-screen cell rested on a shelf in a shack in a desert, dust-hugged and forgotten.

(The battery ran out long before the phone service did, but it wasn’t like there had been anyone to call.) 

Keith could draw a picture to put on the poster, he supposed. Despite what Lance said, he was a decent artist. 

It was just another talent to add to the list.

Flying.  
Fighting.  
Losing people.

A muffled knock at the door had him flinching. A soft click and the door inched open. A sliver of blue light slid over Keith’s legs, stretched out in front of him, mud-streaked white.

Oh. He’d forgotten to take his armor off. 

“It’s time to eat,” Pidge said, voice too-quiet as if to make up for earlier’s screaming. 

She didn’t quite meet Keith’s eyes, but he didn’t care. They were red and ugly and raw.

(Like his heart, but Pidge did see that.) 

Dinner was quiet and quick. Keith kept his head down; he couldn’t bring his gaze up to the farthermost chair, empty and empty and empty. 

It was just another reminder that this wasn’t home.

(Home was where Shiro was.

But Shiro wasn’t anywhere.)


End file.
